


Carry Me

by LadyCailin



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: A couple of Steve Feels too, Love is hard, M/M, Past Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Realization, Tony Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-29
Updated: 2014-07-11
Packaged: 2018-02-06 17:54:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1867014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyCailin/pseuds/LadyCailin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve carries Tony to bed one night and sets off a chain reaction in Tony's brain. </p><p>Or</p><p>Tony's emotional walls have walls, and possibly sharks with lasers patrolling the moats.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Not yet beta'd. Please contact me if you're interested in helping Tony's thought processes make grammatical sense.

They’re in the lab, Tony bent over a soldering iron and Steve to his right, arms crossed and feet spread. Cap looks disgruntled, amused, and then about as mischievous as any kid from the streets of Brooklyn can, right before he bends at the waist and hauls Tony onto his shoulder. Tony is too shocked at first to flail, to grasp at his table or equipment. He’s in the air and _Jesus_ , no one has hauled him around like this since. . .no this is actually an entirely new experience. Lots of people treat Tony like he’s a child. After all, he is an emotionally stunted billionaire genius with ADD and a classic case of narcissism. It’s not actually that far off from being one of the little prepubescent nightmares, so he can’t blame anyone for making the connection.

This though, this _manhandling_ is new.

Tony admits to himself that he hadn’t exactly realized what he and Cap were doing could be termed _flirting_ until that moment. Sure, their banter had become more amicable. It was no less heated at times, but there was at least respect and playfulness in their interactions as well. That was just getting to know one another as co-leaders of the Avengers though, a byproduct of battle and time. Tony could, completely objectively, admire the physical perfection of Steve after a workout, flushed pink and panting. Or the way his eyes danced with amusement even when he forced that heroic jaw-line into a stern angle of disappointment. Those were just aesthetics, like admiring a well crafted engine, or Tony enjoying the danger of Natasha’s thighs without any actual intention of finding himself between them.

Somewhere along the way though, and he couldn’t be sure exactly where (but it had to have been sometime between breaking up with Pepper and helping Cap dig the shrapnel out of his back as his flesh tried to heal itself around the jagged pieces in the middle of the night. Clint really wouldn’t have survived that one if Steve hadn’t taken the brunt of the blast.) Tony had stopped admiring ascetic beauty and started flirting with Steven Rogers.

Which, in itself, is not miraculous or paradigm shifting in the least. Tony flirts with everyone. There’s an element of sarcasm, flirtation and even challenge to his interactions with almost every person on the planet. It’s who he is. It’s not even that surprising that Tony hadn’t realized he was actively flirting with Captain America. It’s rather more of a surprise to be introduced to the idea that the flirting was a mutual thing. A two person thing, where one person flirted and then the other person _flirted back_. Because that would mean Steve Rogers was, in this hypothetical scenario, flirting with Tony Stark. Things like that just didn’t happen.

It takes Tony, a self-proclaimed genius, months to realize all of this. He doesn’t even harbor a suspicion until that mischievous look, until the moment Cap lifts him off his stool. Uninhibited by his pathetically sleep-deprived brain processes, a wave of hot and unadulterated _want_ shoots down his spine and pools a little too quickly in Tony’s groin.

Tony’s groin, which is conveniently pressed tightly into the line of Steve’s shoulder.

He panics, that’s the only word for the wildly uncoordinated flailing of limbs that occurs. His hands grip and slide wildly against Steve’s back as he tries to push himself up and away from the contact, only that’s wrong. _That’s leverage 101 you idiot._ That’s pushing his hips into Steve, and as Tony manages to tip himself upright in a move he can only hope will at least let him end this on the unforgiving floor with some dignity left to him, Cap wraps a large hand around his thigh and pushes upwards, driving Tony back down across his shoulder.

The feel of that large palm on the back of his thigh, right below his ass, sends another tight pulse of panic and _wantneedyes_ through Tony.

_Happy in a bikini. Fury naked. Reed Richards lecturing in a thong-_

Luckily, the combination of his desperate, wiggly bid for freedom and the warm hand on his thigh – practically cupping right below his ass – repositions him far enough that he ends up with his stomach shoved into Steve’s shoulder instead of his groin. This is considerably less comfortable for the purposes of breathing, but also less likely to necessitate further contemplation of Fury’s naked body just to keep things decent.

Jesus, just the _thought_ of his erection rubbing against Steve’s chest is enough to make him- _No!_ Tony tells his brain sternly, he can think about that later. Alone, _very alone._

Wait, Steve’s talking. How long has Steve been talking?

“-I don’t care how much you struggle or yell Tony, you are going to bed. What if we got a call right now? You can’t fly in this condition. I’m not-“

. . .Right. _Right!_ Steve wanted him to sleep. Tony had been sassing him (flirting with him). Steve had sassed him back (flirted back?) and then Cap had decided their argument (flirting?) should be escalated to a physical altercation (a warm hand on the back of his thigh.) And now Tony is being carried over a well-muscled shoulder, staring straight at an ass that Tony is fairly sure he himself could not have designed better. _And oh, his hands are just close enough to-_

What in the name of _circuitry_ does he normally do with his hands? His hands aren’t normally anywhere in the vicinity of Steve Roger’s ass, Tony is sure about that. In fact, he’s positive he’d have known if his hands had ever seemed this conveniently close to Steve’s ass. He could not possibly have been oblivious to proximity like this, it wasn’t possible.

He should stop thinking about Steve’s ass before what little remaining dignity he has finds a way to grind itself out against Steve’s chest, actually.

The elevator – Now that he’s looked away from Steve’s ass Tony realizes they’re taking the private line up to the penthouse. – is strangely quiet as Tony searches his mind for things that won’t lead him to grabbing Steve’s ass or in any other way embarrassing at least one of them.

Steve’s silent too, as if he realizes Tony’s checked out and isn’t listening to anything except the confusing mix of sensory input following days of deprivation and his own always chaotic thought processes. Maybe he thinks Tony’s plotting something. Maybe that’s why the steady strength of one hand is still gripping Tony’s thigh, keeping him in place. The warmth of Steve’s hand has already clawed its way through the fabric of his jeans, and Tony has to keep himself from shifting to try to get that warmth and pressure to more interesting places. In the silence of the elevator the points at which Steve touches him are all he can concentrate on, the feeling of that hand as central to his being as the arch reactor. He thinks about laughing eyes and stern jaws and his hands twitch, itching to touch in return. He feels like he hasn't touched anyone in days, in weeks. Maybe he hasn't, he can't remember.

Jesus, what do people usually do with their hands in this situation? He’s never been slung over someone’s shoulder before. Like a sack of potatoes. Shifting slightly at last, Tony catches the smell of the t-shirt that he can’t remember having changed in several days. He immediately stills, hoping that a lack of movement will somehow keep super senses from catching the smell of sweat, unwashed skin and burnt metal. It’s embarrassing, he’s only just realized he’s been flirting with Steve, and apparently he’s been doing it most recently while in a state of unwashed mania. He is definitely being slung like a sack of potatoes. Unsexy potatoes. Unsexy, unwashed potatoes with a bit of a beard growing in.

Maybe he was wrong about the flirting being mutual, he considers.

After all, Steve usually gets flustered and holds doors open for the girls he likes. He doesn’t get all handsy. This is definitely handsy. Maybe this is a buddy thing. Buddies rough house, right? Tony doesn’t know, because for the most part his male friends were either too terrified of his body guards growing up or just too mature to rough house. Conceptually it fits in with this newly- handsy activity. Steve is treating him like a buddy. An unsexy, unwashed potato-sack buddy who he needs to cart to bed for his own good.

Tony feels himself sag a little as the doors open into the penthouse, not sure why he feels disappointed. He’d only just hypothesized flirtation a few moments ago. He shouldn’t be so attached to the idea already. Steve stops as they pass the kitchen and there’s a small shrug that isn’t comfortable at all, but brings Tony back to the present.

“You awake?”

Tony tends to get monosyllabic, and then finally nonverbal, after too long without sleep or coffee, so he grunts in response when Steve asks him when he last ate. J.A.R.V.I.S. jumps in to inform Cap of whatever the actual answer might be and probably tattle about the sleep priority protocols that are supposed to keep Tony from working while having sleep deprivation induced hallucinations. Tony’s busy contemplating whether grabbing Steve’s ass after all will at least get him put down. He could go hide back in the lab where no one will care about his unwashed state or treat him like a sack of potatoes. He’s even here on the floor with the coffee machine. He can escape, get coffee, and then get back to work. Coffee and machines, the two things he needs to sooth the strange sting of disappointment. Plus, he’d get to grab Steve’s ass in a perfectly legitimate bid to obtain his rightful freedom. It won’t be misinterpreted as an actual ass-grab, while still familiarizing Tony with the chiseled planes in question.

Tony’s so busy with his escape plan and deciding exactly how he’d like to get his hands on that ass – He’s thinking two handed grip and lift –that he almost doesn’t realize they’ve reached his bedroom. The door slides open and the silent intimacy of his room is suddenly wrapped around the two of them. It’s night, and the stars are out over the city skyline. Tony’s breath stills in his chest when Steve’s hand twitches on his thigh, and he wonders suddenly if Steve wants to draw it, because that's Steve's drawing-twitch. Tony does have one of the best views of the city. All the tower views are great, but Tony’s used filters and special coating on the glass in his own rooms to really bring out the details of the city. It makes him feel alive to really _see it_ like this. Maybe Tony should invite him back to draw. They could hang out on his bed . . .like buddies.

Tony admits to some confusion about what buddies do together when there aren’t stripping stewardesses or alcoholic drinks involved. He’s still silently contemplating social norms in that arena when Steve finally looks away from the city skyline.

Then Steve Rogers is striding on long, powerful legs towards his bed and Tony’s brain shuts off again. Tony’s trying to disconnect himself from his body while simultaneously recording every image and sensation of this moment. He’s going to use this later. It’s going to be him, his hand, a glass of scotch and the mental image of Steve Rogers charging his bed with purposeful strides and Tony on his shoulder. He won’t let himself think about that now, he’ll just mentally record it for later, because the danger of socially inappropriate erections has not yet passed.

And that’s before Tony gets tossed down on the bed.

Every part of his nervous system finds this something to be _extremely excited_ about, and Tony tries to remind those nerve endings that he is currently an unwashed sack of potatoes, not a soon to be ravaged playboy with conveniently placed lube in his side table. This reminder is promptly ignored by the brain Tony really should figure out how to upgrade when Steve looms over him, his arms on either side of Tony’s prone body, one knee on the bed to the right of his hip. It’s only when Tony finds himself staring into Steve’s eyes that he freezes, his eyes widen, he feels himself holding his breath.

Tony briefly sends out a plea to anyone willing to buy his soul if he can somehow not have bad breath after almost three days without eating or sleeping, because for one insane and brief moment Steve’s eyes trace over Tony’s face, Tony’s horribly chapped lips, and Tony is almost sure he’s going to get kissed by Captain America.

He isn’t, but for the first time since the lab Cap has his complete and full attention when he says;

“ _You_ are going to sleep for at least eight hours. You are then going to wake up, shower, shave, put on something that doesn’t smell like burnt metal, and come eat a large meal. Yes, that is a checklist. No, you will not make it back into the lab if you do not complete all items on the checklist.”

It’s the voice of The Captain and Command, tinged with the friendly concern of doe-eyed Steve, the one they all abandon stubbornness for in the end because the guy is just so damn earnest about everything. . .Or maybe that’s just Tony. Tony wants to argue that Steve’s not the boss of him. He wants to say something witty about the Cap’s checklists and paperwork, and maybe a reference to filing his complaints in triplicate next time he wants Tony out of the lab. He wants to arch his hips up into the somehow graceful curve of Steve’s impossibly perfect body, because its cold in here and he hadn’t realized how warm Steve was until he’d thrown Tony on the bed and made him aware of every single cell in his body that wasn’t touching Steve. Instead he finds his mouth dry, his mind blanking on how exactly words work together to form language, and his dick incredibly hard. So Tony nods and tries not to stare at Steve’s mouth when the other man gives him a slightly suspicious look before he stands back up.

Tony’s convinced that it’s only by the grace of a dark room and a benevolent deity that Steve doesn’t notice how his hips push up a little in searching protest for contact when he leaves a moment later.

 

 


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Tony continues to be terrified of feelings, himself, and Steve Rogers. 
> 
> Not yet beta'd. Updates on Wednesday, Friday and Sunday. This one is a bit early because I might not be around for the regular Wednesday Update. Enjoy everyone.

The next morning in Tony’s penthouse bedroom is bright, and annoying, and decidedly lacking in mischievous Brooklyn smiles and warm hands on his thigh. So Tony gives himself a good talking to in the shower about flirting, and being buddies, and his truly pathetic tendency towards shoving emotional intimacy into the convenient box of sexual intimacy in order to avoid _actually_ being intimate with people.

He then spends a nice session with his palm, contemplating how easily Steve had picked him up and deciding on a perfect revisionist’s history of how things would have gone differently in a magical world where Tony had brushed his teeth and showered within the last three days. He’s leaning against the wall of his shower and watching the results circle the way down the drain when his stomach growls.

All and all though, he feels better. He’d been oblivious to this flirtation thing he’d been doing with Steve, which is why the intimacy had snuck up on him a bit. In the harsh light of day and the clarity afforded by several hours of uninterrupted sleep he realized several things. First, Steve was his friend, and Tony liked him, respected him even. Liking people, and having people like him back, was something of a challenge for Tony. He tended to push them away in whatever way he could. Since Steve hadn’t run screaming for the hills when Tony was as big of an ass as possible his internal security systems had obviously decided on the next easiest course – sex.

Tony was great at keeping people at arm’s length with the prodigious use of sex.  Sex was fun, sex was distracting, and sex was a clear exchange. People who weren’t intimidated by his intelligence, wit, or general willingness to be a complete asshole, and still remained interested in getting to know him tended to scare the hell out of Tony. He seduced them almost out of reflex just to settle the pathetic part of himself that needed to _know what they wanted from him_. That settled, Tony usually found himself much more able to ignore their demands on his time, attention and emotions. After all, once you figured out what someone ultimately wanted from you it was much easier to build the walls against intimacy that Tony knew himself to be so incredibly adept at building. Person A wanted his tech, Person B wanted his money, Person C wanted his body. Once he knew what they wanted, or at least what they would take in lieu of anything real, their importance to him all but disappeared.

Tony admits to himself, often and unflinchingly, how truly fucked up he is in the head. His emotional walls have walls, and possibly sharks with lasers patrolling the moats.

Anyway, now that Tony knows what he’s guarding against, why he’s feeling vulnerable to the entirety of _Steve_ , he can redirect his psychosis away from Steve’s delicious abs and figure out a way to keep his unutterable fear of emotional intimacy from leading to the complete collapse of his Super Secret Boy Band and their never ending slumber party. Because sex with Steve would do that. Sex with Steve would be awesome and possibly the best sex of Tony’s life (which is impressive), but it would pretty much send them all on a trip down a one-lane road to the destruction of the Avengers.  If they haven’t fallen to alien armies and super villains then Tony sure as hell isn’t going to be the one to bring it all crashing down, no matter how super-soldier-perfect that ass may be.

Which leads to Tony Stark contemplating the problem of Steve Rogers as he shampoos his hair and his stomach rumbles a threat to eat itself.

The problem is that Steve doesn’t actually want most of the things Tony usually uses to keep people at bay. Although he now knows how, Steve prefers not to use most tech. He even insists on technology-less training sessions for the whole team just in case any of them, or all of them, are ever caught without Tony’s incredible Avengers gadgets. Tony loathes these training sessions with a depth of emotion no language can do justice, but he does it anyway because if the situation with the Mandarin taught him anything it’s that he’s more than his tech and there’s a perverse part of him that enjoys showing his team that.

Tony’s given the guy tablets and phones, and even shown him how to use the holograms for his art, but at the end of the day Steve still pulls out his charcoal and paper when his fingers itch to draw something. In fact, the only thing Tony’s created in the tower that Steve seems at all attached to is J.A.R.V.I.S., and the guy treats his A.I. more like another member of the team then the one-stop-shopping point of all things Stark and 21st century. Which, yeah, maybe Tony actually likes that about Steve, because not a lot of people born in this century treat the computerized voice like a person, or understand he has his own independent thoughts. Steve asks J.A.R.V.I.S. his _opinion on things_. It’s. . .well, it makes Tony feel warm about the Capsicle, anyways.

Steve won’t even accept Tony’s money. It took three months and Pepper pointing it out for Tony to find out that Steve had been transferring rent and grocery money to an account for the Avenger’s expenses every month. He’d also apparently paid Tony back for the tux he’d purchased for Steve during one of the rounds of fundraising they’d all gone through after the Chintauri attack. It was not a cheap tux. The guy had even been putting in for pizza night. _Pizza Night_. Tony had argued with Cap for hours about it after he’d found out, but Steve had only thanked him for his generosity and then continued his transfers behind Tony’s back like he hadn’t understood how ridiculous it was to pay back a billionaire for rent and pizza. Tony actually kind of hates that part. Tony hates that Steve doesn’t just not want his money, he actively makes sure he’s independent from relying on it. Having his money rejected on a level like that makes him feel a little bit like his attempts to take care of everyone on the team are being rejected. Tony doesn’t cook, so when he wants to feed people he orders pizza. He doesn’t do warm hugs, so when he wants to make someone smile he throws together a piece of tech that’ll make them shake with awe. He doesn’t do feelings, so when people want a peek under his armor he hands out orgasms like party favors.

The thought is brutally honest and just slightly bitter. Suddenly Tony doesn’t feel quite as happy with the universe as is normal for post-shower-orgasms Tony. He dries himself off and dresses with a little more grump then is strictly necessary for the situation. Steve doesn’t want his money or his tech and there’s a weirdly challenging part of him that keeps pointing out that Steve still hasn’t strictly _turned down_ his body yet, and isn’t Tony at least curious about whether or not he will? After all, _Steve flirted back._ It’s as masochistic a tendency as ever he’s had. If Steve turns down sex then he’s officially rejected everything Tony has to offer him and Tony can tell from the sickly tension of unhappiness in his limbs exactly how good that result is going to feel.  But if Steve accepts sex then Tony ruins the Avengers and the first tentative friendships he’s had outside of Happy, Pepper and Rhodey in. . .Well, in his entire life. There’s also a part of him that would be incredibly disappointed in Steve if he accepted, and that right there is _just ridiculous_. Tony has never expected anyone to be _above_ accepting either money, technology, or sex. In fact, he’s pretty much based his entire life, his business and his emotional safety on the idea that people are going to want one of those three things from him. It’s the lens through which he examines humanity, and the idea of Steve falling outside of that is terrifying, and yet apparently something Tony secretly wants him to do. 

Again, Tony acknowledges on a _daily basis_ how completely fucked up in the head he is.

Perhaps even more horrifying is the real question: if Steve doesn’t want sex from Tony, then what _does_ he want? Because whatever it is, that’s what Tony needs to figure out how to give him so he’ll stop trying to get so . . . _so close_ all the time.

The gaping unknown of that question makes Tony feel small and unaccountably helpless. It makes his eyes rake the perfect line of Steve’s shoulders and the curve of his ass that even denim can’t hide as he comes into the kitchen to find Cap making sandwiches. Sex would be so much _easier_ , and Tony hates feeling helpless, he hates not knowing what to do.

Steve glances up from the turkey sandwich he’s slathering with mayo, his eyes raking up and down Tony’s freshly showered and dressed person with a look that is assessing his health and not his package. Tony frowns and crosses his arms, giving in to the grump in the face of such starkly nonsexual appraisal. Steve grins, apparently amused rather than stung by the fury of Tony’s narrow glare.

“Come on and sit down, J.A.R.V.I.S. let me know you were headed this way. I figured I might have left the ‘Eat a large meal’ item on the checklist a little too ambiguous and I don’t want to think about what type of shape you’re going to be in if you keep trying to survive off protein bars and Dum-E’s shakes.”

Well, that’s just condescending. Which is not to say that Tony didn’t pretty much expect Steve to be here, making him some sort of meal, but that’s because it was just _what Steve did_. That had nothing to do with whether Tony was or wasn’t capable of providing for himself. Hell, he’d been taking care of himself since he could remember. He just didn’t always give as much attention to the project as everyone seemed to feel he needed to.

“Cap, not that this mother-hen act isn’t just _darling_ ,” Tony raised an imperious eyebrow and ramps up his glare in an attempt to wipe that grin off his Co-Leader’s face, “but I am capable of taking care of myself. I lived alone for a long time before you and Bruce-bear moved in full time and Natasha and Clint started staying with us for their layovers.”

Steve looks unconvinced and unimpressed, and his hands are still working to build the most delicious looking turkey sandwich Tony has ever laid eyes on. Tony’s stomach grumbles loudly, obviously mutinous at the mere suggestion that Tony doesn’t _absolutely need_ that sandwich and three more like it. Steve barks out a laugh and shakes his head at him.

“Tony, J.A.R.V.I.S. is the one who taught Dum-E to make your shakes, and Pepper told me the first week I moved in to make sure to stock the lab with Power Bars. Besides, your physical needs are different now. Intermittent Super Hero Work burns more calories,” he smiled teasingly as he slid the first sandwich Tony’s way, obviously trying to work his way under the grumpiness Tony’s valiantly hanging onto this morning.

The way Tony tares into the sandwich on the first bite is suggestive of the entirely vicious retort he would be throwing at Steve if he weren’t completely starving, and turkey wasn’t his favorite. Steve just shrugs easily as he finishes fixing two more sandwiches.

“I do it for Bruce too, if that helps,” he offers, “The Power Bar thing.”

It doesn’t. In fact, it leaves Tony feeling unaccountably disgruntled about the suddenly diminished emotional value of Steve always taking care of him. Of course Steve always takes care of him, Steve always takes care of everyone. Steve feels it’s his personal responsibility as Team Leader to support them in the field and in life. Even Tony, his Co-Leader, gets Steve to lean on. Even Tony gets Steve as a shield against the world and his own idiocy.

But the slightly smug smile Steve wears as Tony inhales the first sandwich, and his own obviously warped possessiveness over being provided Power Bars aren’t enough of an annoyance to keep Tony closed off for long. Steve is relaxed, obviously post-workout, and he’s no longer worried or stern with Tony in an attempt to get him to take care of himself. They fall into banter and the exchange of information. Tony finds out Clint is out on mission for the Organization Formerly Known As S.H.I.E.L.D. and Thor is currently romancing his way through the desert with his beloved Midgardian sweetie. Natasha and Bruce are both wandering around somewhere, doing whatever they do when they’re at the tower. Steve and Tony joke, and yes _flirt_. Tony is on his way through his second sandwich and he’s telling Steve about his latest work with his under-armor mesh when it occurs to his brain to ask him a truly terrifying question in follow up to that spike of disappointment over the Power Bar situation:

What does he want from Steve?

Tony stills in his chair, back ramrod straight and sandwich frozen a few inches from his mouth. He barely remembers to swallow the masticated remains of his last bite to avoid choking on them.

“Tony?” Steve asks in concern, standing up from where he was leaning across the kitchen counter on his forearms as they talked and looking around briefly for any obvious threat.

_Shit_.

Normally, not that this situation is at all normal for Tony, but _normally_ he would start a fight right about now and use that as an opportunity to run for the lab-shaped hills. He can’t do that of course, because Steve didn’t do anything wrong. Steve hasn’t done anything remotely in the _vicinity_ of wrong. Tony has. Tony has fucked up.  
  
 _Bad._ This is _so bad._

“I-,” he blinks and cuts himself off, changing direction mid sentence. Containment, he needs to focus on containment, “Uh, just an idea. In fact, I need to go. Science calls!”

He backs out of the chair with what he hopes is a distractingly charming smile, sandwich still in hand as he makes his way towards the elevator. Steve raises one golden eyebrow and then tips his head to the side curiously when Tony manages to back himself into a piece of furniture, but doesn’t comment on his behavior at least.

“Okay. . .uh, just make sure you come out for dinner. I _will_ come get you again if I have to Tony,” Cap emphasizes with a stern look that is more playful amusement than anything else. It makes Tony’s chest hurt and a swell of panic roll through his full stomach.

“Sure, and thanks for the, uh-“ he gestures to the sandwich still in his hand before taking a large bite so he’ll just _stop talking._ The elevator is behind him and the doors open even as he turns to them. He leans weakly against the back of the small compartment as the doors shut safely behind him.

He can’t force himself to chew the food in his mouth, and swallowing is an unimaginable obstacle he can’t bring himself to contemplate in the silence around him.

He doesn’t know what Steve wants from him, and he’s always hated not knowing the answer to something. What does he want from Steve, though? That’s easier. He knows the answer to that. He knows it now, consciously.

_What does he want from Steve?_

Jesus Christ, he is so horribly screwed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love is hard. Trust is hard. Tony isn't well practiced in either.
> 
> Reviews are welcome. Hopefully future chapters will have had a beta to look them over. Next update is Friday!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Tony is the absolute best at lying to himself and telling the truth in turns. I’ll let you all decide which is which.

Tony’s locked down the lab and he’s drunk and moving into _completely_ _shitfaced territory_ well before dinner. He’d started out pacing the lab, but after the frantic energy of his absolute terror in the face of _emotional truths_ had run its course he’d settled into the posture of the dejected and miserable across the world, slumped over a slowly emptying bottle.

He is so screwed.

Because the answer, the big answer to the question of what exactly Tony wants from Steve is gut-wrenchingly horrible. He wants _Steve_. He wants _all of Steve_. He-

Tony slams back a swallow of the bottle of seventeen year old Laphroaig single malt currently gripped in his left hand and grinds the palm of his right into his eye as he grimaces.

He can barely use the word even in his own mind, but Tony is both the absolute best at lying to himself _and_ telling himself the truth in equal turns. He wants Steve to _love_ him. It’s right up there with acknowledging he’d wanted his father to be proud of him while simultaneously hating the man’s guts a far as inconvenient truths go. It’s also about as equally likely to happen.

He wants to pretend he doesn’t know how this happened, but he knows exactly how this happened. It happened because Steve hadn’t sucked up to him when they’d first met. It happened because even though Tony had been an ass to him, Steve had still listened to him and gone out and dug up the tesseract weapons in Fury’s basement. It happened because Steve laughed at himself and joked when he couldn’t make sense of the future instead of getting angry or frustrated. It happened because the man never gave up learning, plodding away like the damn tortoise in the fairytale. It happened because Steve had clapped him on the shoulder and said “I was wrong about you,” after shawarma, like people admitted things like that every damn day. It happened because it was Steve’s soft voice calling him _shell head_ that got him to put the bottle down after Pepper left and he had tried to crawl inside one.

It happened because when Steve was around, Tony knew who he was, and who he wanted to be.

And now he’s having an attack of the fucking vapors about it.

Tony’s a futurist, a realist.  Some, Steve probably, would say he’s a cynic. He knows where this ends, no matter what happens.  In the best, brightest future imaginable Tony manages to romance Captain America for a good long run before eventually driving him away. Maybe it’ll be a moral wedge that does it, they have enough debates on those issues already as Co-Leaders of the team. Maybe it’ll be a more personal one, his lack of ability to communicate his emotions seems likely. God and Pepper Potts know he’s horrible at relationships and emotional intimacy. Maybe they limp their way through the breakup and keep the team together, maybe they rip the Avengers and the world apart along with their own hearts. Either way, it ends.

Tony takes another drink, struggling to swallow around the tightness in his throat, because even though that’s the best case scenario it’s still the one that scares him the most. He can almost feel how bad it would be, a phantom ache below his arch reactor as he thinks about the idea of _having_ Steve’s love, and then. . .and then _not_.

Worst case scenario, any confession leads to Steve letting him down gently, but withdrawing from their friendship. He’ll never get that strong arm across his shoulders again, that warm look from clear blue eyes, and his time with Steve tapers off as the other man tries to simplify their interactions and not give any mixed signals. The warmth between them becomes clinical, functional, everything it probably should have stayed in the first place. Tony dies inside just a little bit at the thought of this scenario.

By all rights these inevitabilities should keep him from thinking about all the possibilities in between. The reality of being without hope should be frosting over his heart and choking off the lifelines that have allowed it to reach out for Steve Rogers.

Instead he’s asking himself again that impossible to answer question: What does Steve Rogers want from him?

Because Tony knows, he _knows_ that he’s not very good at loving people, but he also knows he’s complete crap at making himself stop. Maybe there’s no scenario where Tony gets to have Steve love him back forever, but there are about a thousand he can think of where Tony still gets to be close to him, gets to love Steve and have him in his life. The warm hand on his shoulder, the strong presence beside him against the world, the stubborn bastard making him sandwiches as they exchange flirtatious banter. He can have that without breaking everything between them. He already does have all that, and _he can keep it_ if he figures out how to make Steve _want to stay_.

There’s the Avengers, of course, but Steve was Captain America before the Avengers, and he still does his share of spy vs. spy missions for The Organization Formerly Known As S.H.I.E.L.D.  He doesn’t need Tony or his money to be a hero. He imagines Steve would still be out saving lives and stopping evil, even if Tony Stark wasn’t footing the bill or fixing his armor. He can very clearly picture Steve pulling people out of burning buildings, maybe because he’s actually watched Steve do that before and knows the suit and shield didn’t help him with any of it.

When it comes down to it he’s dealing with the same problem as this morning in the shower. Steve doesn’t want his money, or his tech, or his- Wait, he hadn’t actually tried to seduce Steve yet.

Tony’s heart pounds faster in his chest just at the thought, a warm buzz singing just beneath his skin that has nothing to do with alcohol. Because _Steve flirted back_ , and seduction is something Tony is actually good at. He could-

No. **_No_** _Stark._ Shut that down, don’t even think about it, he tells his libido firmly. That way lays madness and the breaking of The Avengers. . . and possibly his heart. Remember scenario A, ruin and grief, that’s where that goes.

He is listening to Led Zepplin and drifting in and out of thoughts of the various things he could give Steve that Steve has absolutely no interest in when the man himself starts smacking a resoundingly angry palm against the glass behind Tony. It draws Tony’s attention away from the bottle and his incredibly depressing thoughts long enough to pull a ghost of a smile from him. Damn does Steve look grumpy, which shouldn’t make Tony want to smile, but if he’s got to wallow in all these _feelings_ he’s going to take what happiness he can get from it.

Tony’s feeling benevolent from behind his reinforced glass walls, so he waves at Steve lazily, his other hand clutching the drained bottle of single malt over the arch reactor. He likes the reflections the blue light makes against the floor tiles as it slides through the glass. Steve is not amused, arms crossed and heroic jaw-line tense as he glares at Tony, as if he can will him to sobriety and obedience. His lips move visibly but without sound beyond the thick glass, and one large hand jabs a stiff digit at the door pad.

“Sir,” J.A.R.V.I.S. breaks into the silence as Tony’s music fades away with his long-suffering A.I. tone, “Captain Rogers requests that you open the door immediately. I have already informed him of the lockdown protocols currently in place, but I’m afraid he’s concerned, and very persistent.”

Well, it’s not like he’s solving this one tonight anyway, and it won’t be going away either. He knows that much. Besides, he only brought the one bottle down here with him. Apparently he hadn’t been trying on sobriety long enough for his alcohol tolerance to go down to the point where one bottle could bring him to unconsciousness. 

“What the hell J, let him in,” he laughed out bitterly, letting his head drop back against the cabinet he was currently seated against.

The door lock hissed as the pressure released and it opened, and Tony forced his head up long enough to give Steve a lopsided grin as he approached, all stiff shoulders and angry body language.

“Steve! Welcome to my lair. I would offer you a drink, but you can’t get drunk and I seem to be out anyway.”

Steve ground to a halt in front of him, staring him down hard, and Tony waited for the lecture, idly twirling the empty bottle between his splayed legs.

“ _Tony,_ ” it was said so gently, like he was something fragile Steve was worried about breaking, that it forced Tony to look up in surprise. It was like whatever fit he’d been working himself into had melted and The Captain and turned into Steve, genuinely concern Steve who looked about a second away from wrapping Tony in a hug.

Actually, he could probably use a hug.

“I know you miss Pepper,” Steve said kindly, moving closer, “and that it’s been a year-”

For a second in doesn’t register, doesn’t compute in the alcohol fogged recesses of his brain, so unused to processing emotional data anyway. Then Tony cuts Steve off as he starts laughing, broken and sudden and uncontrollable, because _Oh God, that’s perfect_.

He draws his knees up and shoves his hands against his eye sockets, still laughing and trying not to let it come out as a sob. The bottle falls over beside him, resounding against the floor with an empty sound he wishes he could make instead.

He’d been so wrapped up in the question of _Steve_ that he’d forgotten that it had been a year ago that Pepper had given Tony his _Dear John, I still want to be your CEO but you’re a mess as a human being_ letter. His life is officially more tragic than late night USPCA commercials. He doesn’t even realize he’s started to cry and that the laughter has in fact turned to sobs until he feels Steve’s hand slide through his long hair, offering comfort as he crouches down in front of Tony. Even set back on his heels and bent over Steve looms larger than life over him, and Tony curls tighter into himself to deny the urge to launch himself at the other man for more of the comfort in that one touch.

Steve lets him cry and doesn’t say a word, just keeps that big hand in his hair, moving it through the disarray every once and awhile. It’s grounding, centering in a way he didn’t know he needed. It shouldn’t be this upsetting, because he’s honestly over losing Pepper, he is. It’s just that he knows he’s going to keep on making the same mistakes that lost her, and it’s like an open wound to know that now that he realizes what he wants from Steve.

After his breathing evens out Steve helps him stand up against the cool cabinet behind him, blue eyes skating over his face even as Tony scrubs at it. Steve doesn’t shy away from looking at him though, even like this. He just stands there, his hands gripping Tony’s shoulders to keep him steady on his feet.

“I know what it feels like to be alone Tony,“ Steve’s voice is soft, but achingly honest when he speaks again. There are years of ice and loss and grief in that voice, but purpose too, “You’re not alone, okay?”

Tony feels like a fried circuit board, he doesn’t have a response. He just leans into Steve, not caring for a moment exactly how pathetic he’s being, or even what Steve’s going to think. He just holds on, burying his face against Steve and breathing in his scent and comfort from where his nose falls against skin-warmed t shirt. Jesus, _he is_ so alone, and he knows with a clarity that is sharp and cutting that the reason he wants _Steve_ is because if the entire world were against him, Steve would still be beside him as long as it was the right thing to do. Steve’s strong and sure like a mountain, the perfect fulcrum. He won’t bend for the world _or_ for Tony, and he won’t break. Tony thinks maybe he can rely on him, and Tony’s learned not to rely on _anything_.

Steve’s arms wrap around him, gentle despite the size of the man, but confident too, like he can hold Tony together as he breaks. Those arms pull him forward, closing the distance between their bodies and cradling Tony against Steve’ larger frame. Chest to chest, and his face is now in the crook of a neck. He can feel Steve breathing, almost feel his heart beat against the other side of the reactor. It’s warm, and it’s the closest Tony’s felt to another human being in a long time without wanting to run away from it.

“It’s okay Tony, I know what it’s like,” Steve whispers into his hair.

And he does. He knows what it is to feel like you have to have all the answers, like the whole world is depending on you and you’re the only one who _you_ can depend on to save it. He knows what it’s like to keep remaking yourself, to keep losing important people and still have to pick yourself up for the next fight. Steve knows the weight Tony’s carrying around for the entire world, because he carries it around too.

What Tony wants, what he really wants in that moment more than anything else, more than getting to keep Steve or kiss Steve or even have Steve love him back, is for Steve to know that he can rely on Tony too.

Tony knows he’s bad at loving people, but he thinks that would be almost good enough.

The words don’t come though, because Tony’s only good at empty words, long unbroken strings of distraction and too little meaning. And empty words aren’t good enough for what he wants to give Steve in that moment, so they just stand there silently. Together.

He’s tired after his crying jag, tired enough that he doesn’t protest when Steve stops trying to cajole him up the stairs to the elevator and just picks him up. He’s no sack of potatoes tonight, its bridal style, which is almost as humiliating as his drunken sobbing, but for the moment he’s just too drained to care. He’ll be glad tomorrow Steve took the private elevator again instead of risking the common areas. Right now he’s too busy pressing his face into Steve’s neck and keeping a tight fist clenched in Steve’s shirt right over his heart. It doesn’t change anything, it can’t, but for a few brief minutes between the lab and his bedroom Tony doesn’t feel so alone.

Steve actually stops to tuck him in, run a hand through his hair and look down at him with the city lights the only illumination in the room.

“You’re not alone Tony,” he says again, “I promise.”

Tony can see in Cap’s face that he knows it’s not getting through, but for once they don’t argue a point of contention and Steve’s fingers ghost out of his hair in a move that Tony could almost pretend was reluctant if he were really that pathetic. He’s left to the silence of his thoughts and the spinning of the room, and just like always his brain returns to the problem it can’t solve.

Money, Tech, Sex. The three things he can offer that Steve wants nothing to do with. Sure, Steve flirts back. Tony’s sexy and fun, and the guy’s lonely. He’s a man out of time who lost everyone he-

**_Wait._ **

Lonely.

Steve Rogers is lonely.

Tony sits up in bed, his head swimming with alcohol even as his brain latches on with sudden clarity to an idea, a plan. And just like that, Tony Stark knows what he can give Steve Rogers to make him _stay_. He knows what he has that Steve might want. It won’t ruin the Avengers, it still might break Tony’s heart, but he’s pretty sure that’s almost inevitable in all scenarios.

There is still a huge chance that he’s going to fuck it up. It is, after all, a form of relationship. It will be his first friendship _ever_ where the ties of technology, money or sex didn’t somehow also play into keeping the person around. The Avengers isn’t something Steve would compromise his values for, but it might be enough to make him try to calm down and forgive Tony for whatever stupid things he does in the future before walking out the door forever. It’s a bit of wiggle room, at the least. He can do this. The attention to people thing, he can totally do that. Not, you know, _historically_ of course, but he’s positive he can get it right at least 45% of the time. Maybe he can have J.A.R.V.I.S. schedule reminders? That might help. He could bump his success rate to 63%. . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’d like to point out to everyone reading this that for Steve this is pretty much just another weekday. There’s been no paradigm shifting events, no earth shattering realizations. He put tired Tony to bed and then made him a sandwich the next day before ending up comforting the guy when he got drunk over his Ex. (I defy any of you that say you could yell at Tony Stark when he’s looking that pathetic over Pepper.) It’s like, an average Tuesday for Steve Rogers.
> 
> Meanwhile, _Tony’s Brain._


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. I had a brief flurry of re-writing this chapter, and then realizing everything I was trying to add in to the relationship here is actually being explored in my other, longer fic. Letting this story just be what it is was harder than expected.

Tony’s bad at being there for people, but he’s been trying to be there for Steve. They do training sessions and meals, Tony’s been putting more effort into helping him catch up with pop culture whenever they manage to be in the same room together.  He know now how Steve takes his coffee, what his restless face looks like, and the blue of Steve’s eyes under starlight. It’s all completely platonic, entirely buddy behavior. Okay, maybe not completely platonic on Tony’s part, he’s had to get J.A.R.V.I.S. to monitor how much he touches Steve after becoming a little paranoid about the obviousness of his behavior during a popcorn and movie session where he’d put his feet on Steve’s lap without thinking about it and then become hyper aware of the fact that he wasn’t supposed to do anything inappropriate with said feet and lap situation.  In fact, Tony’s pretty sure that the level of surveillance J.A.R.V.I.S has been engaging in for him borders on creepy stalker, because he also lets Tony know when Steve doesn’t have plans and starts descending into what Tony calls his Coping With Things Workout. There is a lot of punching and running involved in these workouts. 

They’ve hung out on the roof checking out the stars and the rebuilt skyline. They’ve laughed together over midnight coffee in the shared kitchen. Tony doesn’t have what anyone would call a sleep schedule, and Steve doesn’t need as much sleep because of the serum. Insomnia has become the tune of what Tony likes to think of as his courtship of Steve. Not that he’s actually trying to get anywhere that courting usually leads to, but because it sounds like the correct label for the lack of sex and level of pining Tony’s been doing. It’s everything they had been doing together before Tony realized what was going on inside the fortress that is his heart, it’s just more frequent now that Tony’s putting in effort to make sure Steve’s not alone so often. Of course, there is also more flirting, which Tony feels he’s doing a good job of ignoring. He’s been trying to be there for Steve, to provide. . .companionship.

Only Tony can’t help feeling that it’s not enough, that Steve’ just as libel to slip through his fingers as he was two months ago.

It’s that itch of panic inside him that leads to the events of the night of the Drone Attack.

There are bad days being a Super Hero. There are days where you don’t save everyone, where sometimes you have to make the choice who to save, and then watch the rest die in front of your eyes. Tony takes a small comfort in the numbers, but Steve doesn’t. Steve can’t. Because all life is precious to Steve, every person dead is someone he thinks he should have personally been there to save. He’s breathing and they’re not, and it doesn’t matter how many soldiers or civilians Steve loses, that will always be the truth behind the tense jaw line and strong persona he puts forth in front of his team.

Today the Avengers saved approximately 1,500 people, and Captain America had to make the call that killed the other ninety-seven. Steve doesn’t deal in statistics though, in numbers. He deals in humanity, and people. Ninety-seven people died so that 1,500 could be saved from drones and explosions, and Captain America was the one giving the orders on the battlefield when it happened.

Tony can see the weight of it on Steve even as he assists in the rescue efforts, every time the number goes up it takes a little more of the light out of Steve. Steve, who’s like a beacon in the darkness of battle, the North Star shining in the center of the sky. It dims him a little every time he checks in with the rescue workers, every time he or one of the others pull up a body instead of a wounded civilian.

The sun is almost creeping up by the time the heavy lifting is done and they can leave the rest of the work to the emergency forces. For once Tony doesn’t fly back on his own, but gets into the Quinjet with the others and sticks by Steve’s side. He makes noises to indicate he’s too tired to fly, but the truth is he can’t make himself step away from Steve.

He’s at the head of the Quinjet, his shield still in hand, tall and proud, and tired like the rest of them. Tony knows if there is any place in the world he can be to do good right now, it’s standing beside Steve when the others disappear and the strength seeps out of him.

Everyone’s quiet as they disembark. It had been a tough battle without Thor there to help with the heavy hitting, and pulling the injured and dead out of the rubble of the building the bots had attacked has dulled any thrill or relief at victory. Natasha helps Bruce back to his room, the scientist practically asleep on his feet, and Clint doesn’t bother making it to his own bed, just flops down on the couch in the common area and is out before any of them can encourage him to take off his quiver.

Tony lets the arms strip him on the landing pad, and follows Cap down to his private floor in his under suit. He’s covered in sweat and dirt, but it doesn’t matter when the only thing he can see is Cap’s shoulders in an unnatural droop, his head bowed. They’re silent the whole way, and if Steve hadn’t waited at the door to his suite for Tony to enter he might have thought Steve hadn’t even been aware of Tony shadowing him like a ghost.

Steve practically falls onto the couch in his sitting area, one hand sweeping back the cowl from his face and dropping it carelessly on the side table. Steve’s hair is slicked back with sweat and there’s a dullness to his eyes that’s unnatural on him. Tony’s running equations in the background of every thought, testing scenarios on how to make it go away. There’s no easy way. Steve’s in pain and Tony can’t stop it.

The last time he’d felt this helpless Yinsen was dying in his arms.

Steve takes a shaky breath in the dimmed lighting as Tony takes a seat on the coffee table across from him and shuttles the shield to the side. He doesn’t like the way Steve’s gripping it, like a lifeline, like it’s the only thing keeping him together, but he’s not about to take it away from him completely either.

“I remember the name of every soldier I lost on operations with the Howling Commandos. I used to have to write letters home to their folks, you know? I made the decisions that got them killed, and it only seemed fair that I remember them. Just in case there was no one out there who did.”

Tony nods, just watching Cap in the Darkness. He knows. He’s helped to set up relief funds, college funds, he’s paid off mortgages and handed the deeds to widows for every SI employee who has ever been injured or killed because their boss was Iron Man. He knows.

Steve leans forward, elbows on his knees and dirty hands clasped tightly. He’s got his head almost between his knees now, and he’s breathing heavily, raggedly. Tony knows it’s because he’s still trying to hold back tears. He doesn’t think about the intimacy of it, or whether it’s a buddy thing to do for once, he just reaches out for Steve. He moves forward in his seat and curls himself towards the other man, one hand moving to cup the back of his bent head, slide through his sweat dulled hair.

“It’s okay Cap,” he says, head bent close, “I’ve got you.”

Just like that, Steve falls apart in front of him, like he was waiting for someone to say those six words. Like maybe he’d been waiting this whole time since he’d woken yo for someone to say that. Steve chokes out a single sob, leaning forward until his head is pressed up against Tony’s chest. Tony holds on, one hand on the back of his neck, the other gripping his shoulder through the uniform. He holds on, and waits for Steve to lance the wound, drain the poison that’s eating him up inside. Emotions are like that, in Tony’s experience.

“They were telling me today, the names of the dead and I thought –“ his voice breaks, and its _Steve_ , not the Captain crying into his chest, “I thought _I’ll never remember them all_.”

Steve presses into him harder as the words fall into a sob, his arms coming up to clutch at Tony in return. Tony holds him just as tightly, just as fiercely, trying not to let the helpless feeling inside him eat him alive. He’s a genius. He’s an engineer. He should be able to fix this.

It’s forever and no time at all when Steve stops crying, when his breathing evens into the wet gasps of recovery. Tony keeps running a hand through his hair, remembering the way Steve had done it for him and feeling like anything but a genius. He should have words for this, a way to make Steve understand it’s not his fault, not his responsibility. Only there are no words in the English language or any other that will make Steve believe that. Tony knows, because there are no words that could make him believe it if their situations were reversed.

If anything, fighting beside Cap has taught him that he might not be a soldier, but he is a warrior, an Avenger. It’s taught him that there’s no way to fix this type of hurt, and that its one they all suffer from.

It’s the power that does this too them. It becomes a responsibility that can’t be described. The feeling of _I can do something_ becomes _I should do something_ becomes _I should have done more_.

It’s something they endure, because they can, because they’re strong enough to endure it. And because at the end of the day the thing that breaks them about this job is the same thing that makes them get back up and fight again when they’re needed. It never ends, it never gets easier. Tony knows that, and so does Steve, so there’s nothing he can say that won’t be a lie or a platitude, and Steve deserves more than that right now.

Steve breaths deeply, exhaling as he pulls his face a few inches away from Tony’s chest and wipes his eyes. Blue eyes look up at him in the dark lighting, and Tony can’t look away.

“I just,” Steve sigh rasps out brokenly into silent room, “I wish I could forget for a little while. Is that. . .is that selfish, Tony?”

He looks up at Tony as he practically breaths out the question, face still flushed from the tears, lashes still wet. Their faces are too close, and Tony still has a hand buried in his hair as Steve looks up at him with his tired soul right there in his eyes.

And Tony stops breathing.

It’s the stupidest, most reckless thought he’s had since “I should put palladium in my chest cavity”. _That’s something he can do._ That’s something Cap needs, and it’s something Tony can give him. Connection, comfort, affection, a chance to put down the weight Steve carries around for a little while.

Before he’s really thought it through, reminded himself of all the reasons this is a bad idea, this is taking the easy way out, _this will destroy everything_ , Tony is pressing his lips against Steve’s.

There’s the stillness of surprise in both their frames for a moment, a sense of just having fallen off of a cliff when there should have been ground beneath their feet. Then Steve makes a sound of shock, a sound of _yes_ and _please_ and _finally_ that makes Tony feel like he just managed to save the world again.

He’s a kamikaze pilot headed into a nose dive and he doesn’t care.

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t give either of them time to really think about things, only time enough to feel. Time enough to feel Tony’s warm, wet lips open against Steve’s, time enough to draw in that full lower lip between his own as he presses into Steve, pushing him back on the couch and sliding into his lap.

The minute Tony’s there, Steve’s arms wrapped around him like Tony’s the lifeline he’s been looking for. It’s almost tender, welcoming. Like coming home.

Then the urgency of it all floods into the stillness of the dark room. Steve utters something that is half groan and comes from deep inside the chest Tony’s pushing himself against, and suddenly Steve’s hands are _everywhere_. It’s like wildfire, Tony’s caught fire on Steve’s skin and if he doesn’t get to more of it he’s going to die. He’s a star at the point of fusion, burning hydrogen and on the edge of collapse.  He needs more, before it’s too late.

He designed this damn suit, he should be able to take it off without having to let go of Steve’s amazing mouth, without having to breath. But apparently he’s not as much of a genius as he always thinks, because it’s proving surprisingly difficult. His hands are fumbling at the clasps, skating down the scale and gripping at the muscles beneath before losing focus again. Jesus, that’s Steve’s dick hard and hot against his thigh, and Tony grinds down against it to the music of Steve’s shattered breath shuddering against his lips.

His hands are buried in Steve’s hair, urging him towards Tony as he tips his head to the right and drives his tongue forward to search for a taste of Steve beyond the smoke and ash they’re both covered in. Steve’s hands run up the thighs of Tony’s under armor and circle around his hips, his ass. There’s urgency, but a careful lack of force, and Tony takes it as encouragement and slides his thigh along Steve’s hard cock again, listening to the choked gasp it earns him with a smile.

Tony feels almost high on the sensations, the euphoria of it. This is good, this is amazing. He can have this. He can give this to Steve and even if it is taking the easy way, it’s a part of Steve _he can have_. Steve can lean on him like this, rely on Tony for this, and then Tony can keep him. The rest he can figure out later, the Avengers and everything else.

Steve’s hands are clutching at him, too strong and then feather light in a spasm of distracted super-soldier trying not to leave bruises. Tony finally finds the clasp to Steve’s costume when he rips his mouth away long enough for reassure him.

“It’s okay Steve, I’ve got you. You can let go, I can take it,” he grits out, pulling roughly at the opening to try to get at more of Steve’s skin. Then he’s slamming their mouths together again, hands running over Steve’s chest, trying to urge the suit down his arms and shoulders.

Steve lifts him, moving Tony to lay on the couch, spread out underneath him, and Tony can’t help but think how terribly convenient that is as he tries to scrape his teeth across Steve’s jaw and get his hands under the suit and onto Steve’s delicious back at the same time.

Steve is holding himself above him though, and that won’t do. Tony hooks his legs around Steve’s and grinds up into him until he feels like his eyes might roll back into his head.

“Tony,” Steve breath chokes to a stop and he rolls his hips back against Tony’s in an almost helpless way, like he can’t help himself. Only then he groans again and its, “ _Tony, stop!_ ”

The room is too still in the wake of those words, and the only sound is their breathing.

_No. No! NoNoNoNoNo!_

He doesn’t say it, thank god, but it’s a desperate cry in the back of his throat, a denial that’s bone deep and _painful_. He didn’t know his heart could make his bones ache. Don’t stop, he pleads inside, he can have this. Steve can have this. _They_ can have this if Steve just lets it happen.

“It’s alright Steve, you can have this,” he pants out, jerking into motion again. He arches beneath Steve, and their cocks are struggling tightly against fabric and mesh in separate suits but somehow they manage to be aligned so damn perfectly, sliding together with a tease of pressure and not-enough friction. Tony’s tongue sweeps across his bottom lip and he chokes on pure _want_ and another attempt at reassurance, “It’s alright.”

Steve bites his lip above him, eyes closed and head bowed, his nostrils flaring on every breath. He doesn’t look at Tony, like he can’t, like the sight of Tony is too much. Only there’s something in him pulling away from all this, some part of himself he’s wrestling control of and ripping away from Tony in this moment.  Tony can feel it, and it feels a bit like dying, like falling with the HUD blacked out and too much sky beneath him.

Tony forces himself to hold still, to wait in the silence of the room for Steve to say something, to rip him open and reject what’s inside, he suspects.

“Tony I’m not going to-“ Steve voice is broken, rough with sex and want. He stops, swallowing with what looks like effort and opening his eyes to stare directly into Tony’s, “I’m not going to take advantage - to _use you_ like that.”

It’s ice spreading through his stomach, into his chest, stopping his heart. He thinks he knows what it felt like when the crash froze Steve solid.  It’s a sharp kind of pain, raw in his veins, and Steve’s hovering over him watching it happen.

How much can you really feel for a person, before they eventually see it in your face? He wonders, because Steve’s just watching him, pupils blown wide but jaw determined, and Tony does what comes naturally.

He runs.

His heart is breaking and he knows it’s there on his face as he pushes up and away, he knows it as panic tries to take hold. He’s stumbling out from under Steve even as the other man reaches for him.

“Tony, wait –“ Steve starts to say, uniform hanging off him, the smooth skin of his shoulders bare. His eyes are still dark, his lips still red and wet from Tony’s kisses, and Tony can just see the outline of his erection. It doesn’t make sense, because Steve wants him, but he doesn’t _want_ him. That’s too much to deal with tonight, after everything else.

So Tony breaks his promise to himself, and leaves Steve alone.

He shakes his head, backing up and out of the room.

“It’s okay Steve, really. I- You want to be buddies, I get that. I misread. Just trying to help, you know? “His voice doesn’t sound right, even to himself, and he knows this is one time babbling probably isn’t helping the situation.

He can’t meet Steve’s eyes as he turns and charges for the door, but he hears the other man get up behind him.

He’s still in panic mode, which is his only excuse for barking out an order to J.A.R.V.I.S. to lock the door as it shuts behind him. J.A.R.V.I.S.’s _Yes, sir_   is heavy with disapproval, but he obeys. Tony hears Steve banging on the door angrily as he heads towards the elevator, but doesn’t give the order to unlock it until he’s safely in his own room, two floors away.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See, I warned you all. Tony Feels, I said. It’s right there in the tags, but did you listen? You did not.


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And then, there was Steve.

Tony doesn’t come out of his room until the next morning. He’s showered and had a pep talk, and in some ways he’s decided this is better.

After all, now he knows.

Now he knows Steve doesn’t want him.

Tony swallows tightly, glancing around the common room even though J.A.R.V.I.S. had assured him Steve was out with Sam. It’s too late to be their morning run, which means they’re probably hashing out last night together and deciding what Steve should do about it.

Tony’s determined to convince Steve he doesn’t need to do _anything_ about it. After all, it was just a bit of a make-out session after a particularly bad battle. Tony’ll just explain he was trying to help Steve forget about it, and that it’s nothing personal. He’s Tony Stark, and it was just an offer of casual sex. A friends with benefits after battles kinda thing. Steve wasn’t down, he gets that. There’s no need for Steve to make it _weird._

It sounds pathetic even in his own head, but he hasn’t had anything to drink yet. Once he’s got a glass of scotch in his hand he can make just about anything sound convincing. It’s practically a Stark genetic trait.

His stomach is rolling, but he forces himself to take sips of the amber liquid to calm himself as he waits. He nods to Natasha and Clint as they come through on the way to the couch and pretends he’s just out here on his tablet working instead of out here waiting for Steve. Definitely not out here pathetically hoping he can salvage this so that he doesn’t just end up as Steve’s Co-Leader instead of his friend.

Jesus, he’s an idiot.

He running all the scenarios, all the things Steve might say or do over in his head when the hiss of the elevator opening catches him by surprise. He’s only managed to pull himself together and step away from his chair with what is going to pass for a smile today pasted on his lips when Steve comes striding in.

He’s wearing faded blue jeans and a sage green t-shirt below his tan leather motorcycle jacket, and Tony has the stray thought that it’s really tragic this is what Steve’s going to break his heart in, because Tony’s always really liked this look on him.

Steve’s tense, body held stiffly and jaw at a determined angle as he nods perfunctorily at the two on the couch before he zeroes in on Tony with piercing blue eyes. Angry then, Tony thinks to himself as Steve strides towards him like a freight train. He’ll need to defuse him, make Steve realize he’s reacting with a 1940’s mindset to this entire situation. It’s all casual sex and calmly exploring where exactly you lay on the Kinsey scale in this century.

“Listen, Steve we need to talk about,-“

The breath gets knocked out of Tony as Steve bends down without breaking his stride and lifts him in a fireman carry. Tony’s glass crashes to the ground, shattering spectacularly, but even that doesn’t make Steve’s long gate pause. Tony doesn’t have time to do anything about it besides noting the sharp plume of his finely aged scotch as the scent hits the air, because Steve is already carry him out of the room.

To be completely honest, this was not anywhere on Tony’s list of possible scenarios for this talk. He’s fairly sure he’s working without an important data set here, but he’s having a little trouble reverse engineering this situation to find the information he might be missing.

Clint’s wide eyes and Natasha’s raised eyebrow peeking over the couch are the last thing Tony’s sees before they’re on the staircase up to his floor.  So apparently he’s not the only one a little surprised by these events. Good. There’s that at least.

Tony belatedly realizes how lucky he had been to escape last night, he hadn’t really been aware of how quickly Steve could move when he needed, or wanted, too. They’re in his bedroom- Tony winces as his door smashes back against the wall – and he’s once again thrown onto his bed. This time there’s a lot more anger, and he doesn’t get Cap looming over him with sexy bedroom eyes.

No, Steve’s prowling the carpet between him and the door, nostrils flaring in agitation.

“Steve-“ he starts hesitantly. Only Steve rounds on him, eyes practically on fire, and Tony quiets, pretty sure now that it’s apparently not his turn to talk.

Steve opens his mouth and turns towards him twice before he actually says anything, each time pacing a little bit more, like he’s trying to calm himself for what he needs to say. Finally he stops, shoves a hand through his hair with a force that makes Tony want to wince, and stills as he turns towards Tony again.

For a split second before he speaks Steve looks strangely desperate, confused, and just a little bit helpless. He glances around the room as if the furnishings will help him find the words he’s searching for. Tony doesn’t know what to make of that, what to make of any of this. He’s in emergency mode, trying to observe and react as quickly as possible.

“Tony, I _have_ buddies,” he bursts out suddenly, and it’s not anything Tony was expecting to hear, “I have Sam and Natasha, and _Bucky_ if he ever just stops running from it. I don’t-“

He cuts himself off as his voice begins to rise, puffing out a breath that’s less angry and more confused again.

“I mean _yes_ I want us to have that,” he acknowledges as he shakes his head a little at himself for getting it wrong on the first go. He puts his hands on his hips for a moment as he looks down at the floor in too-deep contemplation, “We _do_ have that, but I want _more_ than that.”

“And you just-“ Steve’s hands are thrown up briefly in a gesture that his half exasperation, half hopeless shrug, as if that will explain _Tony_ somehow, “You have sex with people and then it’s like they _don’t even exist anymore_. You use them or you let them _use you_ and then it’s just-“

Steve shakes his head again, face contorting in something like pain.

“And I can’t do that,“ he admits mournfully, like he’s let Tony down somehow, like he’s confessing some fault that will forever bar him from living in this century. It’s quiet in the room for a moment, and Tony watches the process as Steve gathers his resolve, his shoulders squaring. He’s seen Steve do this so many times before a particularly harrowing battle. He has a second to wonder if he’s going to be able to weather whatever Steve’s preparing to dish out to him. He has a moment to wonder how bad this is going to hurt. He feels a little dazed.

Then Steve rounds on Tony, meeting his eyes for the first time since he quieted him with a look. It’s direct and piercing gaze, and then he’s crossing the room and looming over Tony where he stares up at Steve from his seat on the bed.

“I mean, _I want you Tony_.  I want you so badly that it makes me shake sometimes,” It’s there in his voice for a moment, the shaking. Steve’s eyes slowly dilate as he looks at him, a faint blush spreading across his cheeks, “You wear those damn sleep pants around the house, or you get this look in your eyes when we’re out there in battle and I could just-“

He glances away, swallowing tightly and tensing his jaw before he looks back down at Tony. He reaches out and grazes the back of his knuckles across Tony’s cheek, his eyes darting across Tony’s face.

“I want more than that though. You deserve more than that and _so do I_. If I have to wait until you can get that through your thick _shell head_ then I will, and if –“

Steve takes in a breath, and it’s a little ragged at the end when he breaths it back out. His hand drops back to his side, like a puppet with his string cut.

“-if you don’t want the same thing then I can live with that, but I’ve been waiting for the right partner for a _long damn time_ and I’m not selling either of us short now that I found you.”

The silence seems deafening after Steve barks out his last words, this odd combination of confession and ultimatum. Tony realizes he can hear his own heartbeat, hear his blood rushing in his ears. The beat is too fast to be normal, but the knowledge is a distant thing. He’s a cacophony of noise inside, of course his heart would join along to the tempest.

He’s shaking. He’s trembling like he would after a nightmare and he can’t _make himself stop._

He’s never had someone see him this clearly, he’s never felt this naked and raw. He’s split open and Steve is just looking at everything inside him, as if that’s something _people do every day._ As if it’s not the first time Tony’s ever had someone see and touch him like this.

Like he’s special. Like they care. Like they’re going to love him whether he likes it or not.

He doesn’t know what to say. Tony Stark always has something to say, something to break the tension or distract the masses, but he has _nothing_. Why is Steve the only person who can leave him speechless? Steve’s got him pinned to his bed with just his eyes and he’s stripped bare like a raw nerve. His defenses have crumbled, Steve’s standing over him offering him everything he wants, and _Tony’s so terrified he can’t find a way to speak._

He’s only just realized how much of a coward he apparently is, because this shouldn’t be his biggest fear. This shouldn’t be the thing that makes him feel like he might be on the raw edge of a panic attack. But it is. It’s love. It’s respect and friendship and intimacy and it can be _his_ if he’s brave enough to take it.

Only, Tony trusts himself, he’s only _ever_ completely trusted himself, and he’s a futurist, and _he knows where this ends._

He lets out a shaky breath, one he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in while Steve talked. He feels better pulling oxygen back into his lungs, air filled with the scent and warmth of Steve. It calms him, it pushes back the panic and Tony can meet Steve’s eyes again.  Steve’s calm, sure blue eyes.

Steve, who is the perfect fulcrum, the point Tony can stand on to move the world.

Maybe he just needs to try to trust in that.

“When you’re around, I know who I want to be. I-,“ deep breath out, deep breath in. “ _I am_ who I want to be. I feel strong, like I can – like we can handle anything.”

Steve doesn’t melt in relief or pleasure, because even under all that pressure, even throwing himself open in front of sarcastic, bitter _Tony Stark,_ he’s unshakable. He’s a fixed point, a mountain nothing can really move. Steve doesn’t tremble or break under hope the way Tony feels he might, he just nods, looking unflinchingly into Tony’s eyes.

“I feel the same way,” he says simply, honestly. That’s Steve in a nutshell, always so damn sincere and genuine, always so brave and strong. So maybe Tony can trust in that. Maybe it’s okay that all his walls have crumbled and the sharks with lasers somehow missed Steve vaulting over the moat. Maybe it’s safe to let Steve inside. After all, he’s already found his way in, he’s already got the layout. He knows the dark corners and he’s stared into the heart of Tony without looking away or giving in. Maybe it’s time to trust him to be there, and stop trying to push him out.

Maybe he can trust in Steve.

“Okay then,” he says with a little more confidence then the hand that reaches out to tentatively ghost its way over Steve’s ribs might suggest, “Okay, I’m in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know. You were hoping for the sexy scenes of sexiness there at the end. Too bad! Happy Endings, or at least the chance for them, is all you get. I do love a good smush factor, and this seemed like a good point to wrap things up. My next fic for The Avengers is actually turning out to be about 20+ Chapters, and I’m finishing up posting some Firefly and Witchblade fanfiction over the next few weeks. Check those out in the meantime. Soon comes the Age of Ultron trailer, and we can all console ourselves with that.
> 
> On Steve: Steve was not oblivious to the flirting, but when someone breaks down in your arms over their Ex, you kinda figure _now_ is not the time to sweep them off their feet. Steve’s been in a relationship during wartime before. (As have I, you learn things.) He knows how to prioritize his emotions with what needs to be done and what should be done. Letting Tony heal had priority, so I picture Steve as just sort of letting himself enjoy being close to Tony during the months between Chapter Three and Chapter Four.
> 
> But Steve knows what he wants, and he knows what’s going to make him happy, and he knows how he thinks he should treat someone he loves. He’s not going to compromise on any of those things, which is where he and Tony came into conflict in Chapter Four. Tony basically offered himself up to be used for casual sex, and all of the above came into conflict with that offer. That’s not what Steve really wants from Tony, it won’t make Steve happy, and it’s not how he was raised to treat someone he loves. So he said no to casual sex, and then he charged the problem (er. . . Tony) like he was taking a bull by the horns.
> 
> Because Steve’s kinda awesome like that. I love Tony more than Steve, I freely admit that, but that doesn’t mean Steve can’t be something beautiful. Here, I kind of think he was.

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a simple and sexy response to a prompt about Tony having A Thing for Cap carrying him around. It ended in multiple chapters of Tony Feels. 
> 
> Reviews are always welcome, and I'm looking for a beta for this and other fics if anyone is interested.


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